


the most natural thing in the world

by Prim_the_Amazing



Series: Bingo [14]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, marion thought it was hot that cad was a virgin we all saw it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: One of her friends had elected to stay in the Chateau while the others went out shopping for today, though. The firbolg, with the pink hair and lovely armor.The virgin.





	the most natural thing in the world

**Author's Note:**

> For trope bingo, square: May December Romance. Obviously more sex than romance, but I think it counts.

Jester is out in Nicodranas with her friends, exploring and shopping. Marion is very happy for her, that she finally gets to have that. She knows her precious little Saphire isn’t like her, doesn’t feel safe and fulfilled and happy just staying in the same exact place forever. She was meant to be an adventurer (like her father). And she supports that. She won’t keep her daughter trapped in the Chateau with her forever, like a princess in a tower, a bird in a gilded cage. She’d wilt like a flower deprived of sunshine. 

It was so nice though, to have her back in her arms again, to see her safe and whole and smiling. And it settles her heart to know that she isn’t far away, she’s just in Nicodranas, hidden underneath her illusions, surrounded by her strong, loyal friends. She can come running to hide in the Chateau if she needs to. 

One of her friends had elected to stay in the Chateau while the others went out shopping for today, though. The firbolg, with the pink hair and lovely armor. 

The virgin. 

She daintily takes a bite of her peach and averts her eyes away from said vir--  _ firbolg. _ Caduceus. Caduceus Clay, he’d said his name was. They’re having a slow breakfast together, Jester and her friends having hungrily scarfed their meals down while loudly talking over each other and through their full mouths about their many plans for the day, before all leaving with waves and  _ goodbye Mrs. Ruby _ and  _ have a nice day Mrs. Jester’s mom!  _ Such a hectic bunch, Marion is left feeling like a circus walked through her dining room, filling it with near overwhelming noise and life before leaving so abruptly and wholly that the ensuing silence felt abrupt and strangely deafening. Or maybe that’s just her ears still ringing from when the monk one accidentally shouted a loving _ fuck you _ to the green one  _ right _ into her ear. 

Lovely, kind people that Marion is already endeared towards just for caring for and protecting her daughter, but not  _ quite _ the sort of company she’s used to. She can handle them just fine in short bursts, however. 

Caduceus had stayed behind, though, waving off his friends beckoning with a placid shake of his head, claiming that he wanted to stay inside today and just pray and try to read the books his friends had given him. He’s the odd one out of the odd bunch, she thinks. Quiet and peaceful where they’re all boisterousness and wild energy. It’s pleasantly calming, much like the tea he poured for her like a true, adorable gentleman. 

She’d smiled at him in a way a mother shouldn’t smile at her daughters friends without even thinking. Leaned over into his space in a certain way that showed off her  _ assets,  _ looked up at him from beneath her lashes in that way men went wild for. Voice low and sultry and intimate, the  _ thank you my dear  _ downright  _ filthy.  _

She’d caught herself a moment later, leaned back and looked at her teacup as she put her hands on it, face warm for the first time in a long while. That was-- inappropriate. He was her daughter’s friend. He wasn’t a client. He was  _ inexperienced.  _

Warmth started pooling in other places too, if she started thinking about that last thing for too long. 

“It’s a blend meant for relaxation,” he says, voice serene, cadence slow like he has all of the time in the world to give each of the syllables plenty of breathing room, sprawled out comfortably within the confines of their words. “Mild, soothing, good for sore throats. Harvested from the Mercury family.” 

She gives him a startled look at that; she’s quite skilled at disguising the particular, subtle throaty rasp a thorough throat fucking induces, with a smoky, seductive drawl or soft, delicate, quiet words. Goodness, he must be quite perceptive. 

“I have not heard of the Mercurys’,” she says politely instead, because Caduceus is a guest, not a client. She only talks dirty if she gets paid for it. Everyone else gets class. 

Speaking of things she only does if she gets paid for it, she also doesn’t have sex with people at all, unless they’re a client. Not because she doesn’t like the activity itself; she’d never have gone into the profession in the first place if she didn’t, no matter how good or skilled at it she is. It’s just that she gets her itch scratched more than often enough for her to not have to do it outside of working hours as well, and her lifestyle doesn’t exactly lend itself well to spontaneous encounters besides. Marion quite simply just doesn’t sleep with people who aren’t her clients. Clients are safe, vetted and in her territory where she has all of her guards and the power, no matter how submissive and pliant her words or body language is. 

But Caduceus is still standing close to her, and even though he’s tall, he’s also soft. She wants to make him-- 

She sips her tea like a proper lady. 

“Oh, they were a lovely family,” he says, by all appearances pleased and happy to be talking about such wonderful people. “Religious, quiet folk. Quite nice people, considering the area where they lived.” 

“They are not growing tea leaves any longer?” she asks. She wonders how long ago Caduceus bought the tea she’s drinking. It occurs to her suddenly that it may be _ insanely _ expensive, like prized paintings created by now dead artists. If so, she’ll have to make it up to him. Perhaps with a glass of wine from a likewise precious bottle. She wonders if he’s a light weight, if he’ll go dizzy and overheated after only a few drinks. He’s tall, but he’s awfully thin. The urge to touch him prickles in her fingers, and she focuses on the heat of the tea seeping through the porcelain. 

A thoughtful look crosses his face, like a cloud slowly moving to block the sun. “You know, I’m not sure. I haven’t been around to help them any longer like I used to, but maybe they’re still growing. They’re hardy. Been growing since before I was born.” 

“You helped them?” she replies, smoothly pushing the conversation along. Marion Lavorre is far too practiced to let a conversation stall out and die awkwardly with no purpose or enjoyment. She has learnt so much through mere pleasant smalltalk, let alone pillow talk. And then, on reflex, on instinct, learned and used so many times, the praise, the purring compliment, leaves her lips. “My, what a green thumb you must have.” 

Everyone loves being complimented on the things they work hard at, the things they spend time on. True to form, Caduceus smiles at her, a mild and friendly thing. It is broad merely because he has a big mouth, to match all of the rest of his bigness. 

“Thank you,” he says warmly. “It’s the same color as the rest of me, but I’ve always liked gardening, yes. Nature is very soothing.” 

Nature is outside, and outside makes Marion hyperventilate. Hyperventilating is  _ not  _ seductive or dignified. 

“Of course,” she says, suave and smiling and composed. They’ve got words for people who are scared to ever leave their homes. _ Crazy old bat, fragile little thing, sick mind, such a shame.  _ Not the kind of woman who people would pay platinum to spend a single afternoon with. Not the Ruby of the Sea. “Nature is the gods canvas.” 

Caduceus looks down at her. He isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning. He looks thoughtful as he looks down at her. The silence hangs for a beat too long. And then he says, “Oh, excuse me, I’m looming,” and he sits down, this time in the chair next to her, their knees bumping against each other as he angles himself towards her so that they can clearly see each others faces. “I’m still not used to being the tallest person in the room,” he says ruefully. 

She raises her eyebrows. “Trully?” 

“I’m the runt of the litter,” he says, not in a self deprecating manner, but in the way of an inside joke. Perhaps a nickname from a sibling or some such, well meant fond teasing. 

“Well, if  _ you  _ are a runt then I would not like to know what I am,” she says with a rich laugh at the end purely as punctuation. 

“You aren’t malnourished or stunted, Ms. Lavorre,” he says. “You have a healthy glow to you.” 

Well, that is a way to call her beautiful that she hasn’t heard before. She’d thought she’d already collected them all. She smiles, strangely flattered. “Please, call me Marion.” 

“Marion,” he repeats, the name rolling off of his tongue like he’s testing the taste of it. “That’s a good name.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” she says. It’s okay for her to use overly intimate pet names; it is an affectation she uses with everyone, even people she’s trying to intimidate. Not that she wants to intimidate this sweet young man. She wants to make him feel safe, good, cherished. 

She only introduces herself as Ruby to her clients. Never Marion, not to them. 

She watches him drink his own tea, the shape of his strange mouth at the lip of his cup, listens to the deep, warm  _ mmm  _ sound he makes as he swallows. She pinches her legs shut, heat twinging low down in her stomach again. 

Oh, dear. She  _ really _ wants to seduce him. Obviously, she  _ shouldn’t, _ but-- 

“Are you well?” Caduceus asks, brow furrowed with gentle concern, and she turns a reflexively dazzling smile on him. “Something seems to be bothering you.” 

Marion is _ not _ transparent. She’s never been an easy to read woman, and she’s spent her whole life making more and more perfect and convincing masks for herself, for safety, for power. He should not have been able to see through her like that, just now. And yet he did. 

What a perceptive young man. She’d feel threatened, if it weren’t for the fact that he was only showing genuine worry for her wellbeing, like a good little gentleman. 

“You are very sweet,” she says, and doesn’t say _ and I want to eat you right up. _ “But it is nothing, Mister Clay.” 

“Now, if I’m going to be calling you Marion, it’s only fair that you call me Caduceus,” he says reasonably. 

“Caduceus,” she amends. “Oh, that is a pretty name, darling.” 

“Thank you,” he rumbles. “Just don’t shorten it.” 

She thinks about it for a moment, and then has to hide a laugh behind her hand, the aborted sound that leaves her _ not _ being very pretty. Mortified, she hides her face in her teacup. Goodness, she can’t remember the last time that she laughed in front of someone in a way that was anything but lovely… 

(--her husband--) 

Caduceus chuckles goodnaturedly, and she looks up at him, surprised and relieved. The kind of men she tends to deal with are the ones who’ve been rich all of their lives, long enough to gain prickly, fragile egos from being bowed and scraped to from the time they were born. If she’d laughed at any of their names, she’d have to smooth down some raised hackles and soothe their wounded pride. 

“That nickname never even occurred to me before I met your daughter and her friends,” he says, warm and amused. “My whole life, and I never realized that someone could call me ‘shit’.” 

This time the laugh escapes her mouth whole, fluttering out into the world like a surprised freed bird. She realizes, suddenly, how long ago it’s been since she  _ genuinely _ laughed, and not just to be polite or charming. 

“Oh no,” she says, grinning. “I am so sorry for my Jester, she means nothing mean spirited by it.” 

“Of course, there’s nothing to apologize for, Marion. Jester is very good for keeping people from getting too big of a head. It’s one of her many skills.” 

She smiles wider. She never got the experience of excitedly sharing news about her daughter, proudly boasting about every new development. She instead kept all of that pride and love for herself, singing it to her daughters ears only. If other people couldn’t love and be proud and amazed by her daughter, then at least Jester would be. It feels so good though, to sit and talk with someone who agrees with her on this very important thing; Jester is good and kind and talented and a  _ darling.  _

“So, Caduceus,” she says, feeling even warmer towards this handsome young man than she already had been, “is there anyone special in your life?” 

A perfectly normal icebreaker, getting to know you, innocent smalltalk question. Unfortunately, Marion is too smart to be able to lie to herself like that. She is… fishing. She’s not sure which answer she’s hoping for more: a no to make him even more desirable, or a yes to make him safely unavailable. 

“I have plenty of special people in my life,” he says instead. “All of my traveling companions, of course, and my family, and my god, and everyone I’ve tended to, and everyone is special, really--” 

She interrupts his honey slow and warm voice with a kind laugh. “It is good to hear that you have so many important people in your life,” she says. Tended to? Well, her daughter had said that he was a cleric. “And how about a romantic special someone?” 

He blinks at her slowly, the information apparently needing a bit of time to sink in, like syrup pouring out of a jar. And then he breaks out into a crooked smile. “Oh, no. I haven’t found anyone like that yet. The Wild Mother will help our paths cross when it is time.” 

Marion doesn’t, exactly, want to fall into a romantic relationship with this man, or any man. That ship has sailed. She doesn’t want to go through something like that again. But Caduceus does feel very safe and endearing, and if she could just get him into bed for one night-- 

She tries to reign herself back in. Tries to remember all of the reasons why she shouldn’t. 

The way the sunlight is hitting him through the window, she can see that his eyelashes are as pink as his hair and eyebrows, and the fur covering the rest of him looks soft as velvet. 

“And what of a sexual partner?” she asks, the horribly direct words leaving her suddenly dry mouth. She can be as delightfully coy or crass as she wants, but it feels a bit too unacceptably clumsy to be forward on accident, instead of because she’s sure that it’s what would most excite her partner for the evening. “I mean, is there anyone that you desire in that way?” 

“Ah, no, there isn’t.” He keeps giving her an amiable half lidded look, heat visibly curling up from his teacup. 

“Do you not enjoy the concept? Sex, that is.” That is not only a crass question, but a _ rude _ one, which is unacceptable. Marion is quite polite even when she is doling out death threats, much less flirting. 

_ Flirting?  _

“I like the idea of sex,” he says, not looking put off by her line of questioning. A sign of returned interest, or obliviousness? “I know it’s not that way for everyone, but for me it seems as as natural as eating or dying.” 

“That is definitely a way to put it,” she says. 

“And what about you?” he enquires, perhaps to be polite. Marion is willing to admit that she is the one who turned this conversation strange in the first place. 

“It is usually more business than pleasure for me, I must admit,” she grants. “Not that I do not enjoy it, but when it comes to my clients, it is a service that they have paid for and my focus is on their pleasure first and foremost. I always get the final say on who is permitted in my bed, no matter how much gold they offer, but it is not quite the same as choosing someone who you find pleasing to sleep with for its own sake.” 

“You haven’t had sex with someone outside of your work for quite some time,” he says, nailing down the truth of the matter with casual ease. 

“Not since I conceived Jester,” she says, because he knows. He already knows about him. 

He makes a sympathetic hum. “That is quite some time to go without sex for its own sake,” he says. 

“I suppose,” she says. “I had never thought of it in that way. But you have never slept with someone before at all, even though you feel that you would like it.” 

“I haven’t had many opportunities,” he admits. “Before I met my friends, I had always lived on my family’s property in the middle of a forest, secluded. The people who occasionally visited us were clients, and always preoccupied at the time, so it would have been inappropriate for me to try and have fun with them.”

“And after you met your friends?” 

“Things have been very hectic since I met them,” he says, smiling fondly. 

Sleeping with one of those said friends does not seem to occur to him. 

It is reassuring to know that she isn’t messing with any romantic entanglements her Jester might be mixed up in. Caduceus isn’t interested in her, and she seemed quite taken with that green gentleman. 

It seems that her body and her libido have come to the conclusion that she is really going to try and do this while she wasn’t paying attention. Very well, then. 

Marion is going to deflower this lovely young man who is drinking tea and holding conversation with her. _ Trying _ to seduce someone always leads to  _ successfully  _ seducing someone for her, after all. She is not called the Ruby of the Sea for nothing. 

“What about right now?” she asks him silkily. “It is not so hectic here with me, no?” 

“No,” he agrees with her warmly. “The Lavish Chateau has a very relaxing atmosphere.” 

She preens, just a bit. She’s worked hard to cultivate the Lavish Chateau into somewhere perfect for her, molding the environment around her to suit  _ her,  _ and not the other way around. It was not always like that, back when she was younger and had to work outside, singing in the streets as hundreds of strangers brushed past her like it was nothing, approached by men she knew nothing about. 

Things are much better now. Much, much better. 

Caduceus’ cup clinks down onto his saucer, bringing her back to the present. He looks at her like he can see right through her. 

“Marion,” he says, pink gaze heavy on her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” she says. She really isn’t used to dealing with a man so good at seeing through her masks. It’s strangely not threatening at all. It seems more like he’s truly attentive to her emotions, like he actually cares about what she feels, instead of what he wants to feel. “I just became lost in my thoughts for a moment, there. Nothing serious.” 

His piercing gaze continues for one long moment until it seems like he accepts this, and the weight of his gaze softens back into something less actively searching, becoming more relaxed. “That’s nice, that’s good to hear. And yes, I suppose you’re right.” 

She blinks. “About?” 

“How it isn’t hectic here. There are no friends to take care of at the moment, and no one is trying to kill me. It’s nice and warm and safe here, quiet and clean, and the tea and company is excellent. Maybe it’s about time I try and see if I’ll enjoy sex as much as I think I will.” 

He’s  _ flirting back.  _ Marion smiles, and in her genuine excitement it’s a _ real  _ smile. Too sharp, too predatory for customers. They want the alluring Ruby of the Sea, polished and beautiful. 

But Marion Lavorre wants to eat this pretty young man alive, and his soft smile says that he doesn’t mind the idea at all. 

“Well then,” she says, “you will probably want to relocate to my bedroom with me.” 

“If you say so,” he assents easily, and she shivers at it. No letting someone else dictate exactly what they want, no being someone’s tailored fantasy come to life. This time, he’s the fantasy, and she’s going to get what  _ she  _ wants. 

She stands up, and he gets up and politely pushes his chair back in and follows her. She could do it with him there on that chair, the table, up against the wall, down there on that rug-- but doing it on various furniture has never really been her kink, and right now she wants to see Caduceus sprawled out and wanting across her fine silken sheets. 

On impulse, she takes a right instead of a left, and leads him to her real bedroom. Marion has several different rooms to entertain her clients in, according to their needs and wants, and she never ever takes them to where she actually sleeps. She doesn’t want strangers in _ her space.  _ No one she doesn’t allow is let into even the lobby of the Chateau, but her bedroom is her  _ sanctum.  _

But Caduceus feels utterly safe, and she wants to take him apart in a place that feels like her domain instead of like a stage. She opens her bedroom door and lets him inside, closing and locking the door behind him. No one would enter without her verbal permission, but locks make her feel good, safe and protected. 

Caduceus makes a pleased hum, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with anticipation. She turns around. He’s taking in her room. 

“Cozy,” he says approvingly in his honey sweet-slow baritone. 

It is cozy. Small. A small bedroom for Marion Lavorre, because she doesn’t like open sprawling spaces. Her bed is big, but not big enough to comfortably host more than two lovers, not that she’s ever taken even one in here. A writing desk and chair, a wardrobe (she has a larger closet room elsewhere) and most importantly of all, the curtain. The curtain that some might assume hides a window, but in fact hides a door, small and blue with pink butterflies painted on it. The final and iron solid reason that she would never, ever let someone else in here. 

But Jester is a big girl and has moved out now, and Caduceus Clay already knows and loves her. There is no danger. There are giddy butterflies in her stomach at letting someone into a room that she never has before, because it would be so, so dangerous, but now it’s safe. Like reading about perilous adventures, or admiring paintings of places she would never willingly exist in if she had a say in it. Fake dangerous enough to be exciting, but safe. Safe. 

Caduceus Clay feels very safe. She likes that in a man. Safe enough to make her feel dangerous and powerful. She preens and basks in the unfamiliar sensation. She  _ is _ dangerous and powerful, of course, with more money than god and many people infatuated enough in her to kill for her without question, but this is a different sort of powerful that makes her confidently prowl towards Caduceus instead of politely making her leave to write a letter or whisper into someone’s ear to go and take care of him. 

She’s in six inch heels, and she still only reaches his chest. She reaches up a hand and wraps her fingers around his soft pastel pink hair, admires the texture of it. Pulls him down. He bends willingly, obediently, and she kisses him deeply. 

Fireworks go off inside of her stomach, and she smiles against his lips giddily, sharply, like an excited wolf. She parts from his lips, staying close enough to feel his breath wash over her own (smells like jasmine) and says, “Open your mouth when I kiss you, so I can taste you.” 

“Oh,” Caduceus says, like she just said something clever and unexpected. “That had never occured to me before, thank you.” 

She smiles for a moment, helplessly endeared, and then dives back in. She curls her other hand around the nape of his neck, keeping him close and within reach, and at that point he remembers to do as she said, as she instructed, ordered, and he parts his mouth. She slips her tongue inside and traces his. She’s never slept with a firbolg before. His tongue is large and flat, and she sucks on it curiously, getting a deep chested groan from him that turns her blood into molten fire. She parts from him to breathe and smile and order, “Get on the bed.” 

Caduceus blinks slowly at her, seemingly having to take a long moment to pull his brain back from wherever it just went. And then he smiles at her. “Yes, Marion.” 

She grins as he goes to bed, and takes off her beautifully tailored dress in a few seconds by undoing only a few strategic clasps, letting it fall softly to the floor. She steps out of her shoes, which are plain uncomfortable, takes off her rings and bracelets that aren’t practical for matters such as this, and leaves in her earrings and necklace. They aren’t the kind that dangle and get caught on things, and she likes the way the blue of the sapphires look against her red skin. 

When he turns around, now seated on the bed, he only says mildly, “That was fast,” like he’s admiring her for some neat little party trick, and her eyes stay on her face. Clients always take the time to take in the treasure that they’ve paid for, and she always make sure to let them get their fill, to pose alluringly, to give them what they want. Caduceus looks into her eyes, not like he’s flustered or forcing himself, but like that’s just the most interesting place for them to rest. She swallows dryly, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest, and for such a strange reason too. 

“Nudity is natural,” he says, apparently reading some of this off her face. “There’s nothing strange and remarkable about it. My family often took baths together.” 

After a moment, she laughs. “Another woman may be insulted, you know,” she teases him. 

His broad brow gently crumples with confusion. “For what?” 

He’s so _ perceptive _ and yet so  _ dumb.  _ She loves it. She crawls up onto the bed and then onto him, toppling him onto the sheets like a tree, feeling as fond and tactile as a cat. She picks at his clothes, not fully disrobing him. She likes the tumbled, ravished half clothes look, herself. She nips at his lower lip, caressing his crotch. He does a full body twitch, small but strong and sudden. Her grin goes wider, sharper, hungrier. 

“Eager thing,” she coos. 

He looks up at her, his eyes wide and dark. “Yes,” He agrees simply, and she shivers with want. 

“You’ve never done anything like this before,” she says. She already knows. She doesn’t care. 

“Yes,” he says again, and heat washes through her body, the source the very bottom of her stomach, and she palms his dick through his pants more firmly, breathing heavier. 

“I have,” she says, and of course, obviously, she doesn’t need to say that. “I have more than enough experience for the both of us, dear. You just have to do as I say and you’ll be alright. You’re in capable hands.” 

He smiles up at her, trusting, brimming with arousal and soft good feelings. “I know, Marion.” 

That’s it, she’s fucking _ wet, _ rubbing her thighs together with aching need and eagerness. He’s never done this before, he trusts her, he needs her, she knows more, she’s safe, she’s in charge. She’ll take care of him. 

She delicately takes his dick out of his pants. It’s nice and erect, and she observes it with curious interest and then hunger. It’s proportionate, and therefore large. No fur, thankfully. It looks red and slick and vulnerable. She gives it a careful stroke, and another one of those deep chester lowing noises escapes him, sounding almost pained with good feeling. She strokes again. 

“Breathe,” she tells him, her voice husky with arousal. “Don’t forget to breathe.” 

He gulps down air like he’s been drowning, chest rising and falling, and she traces her fingers up and down his erection in time with the rhythm of it. 

“How does it feel?” she asks, and leans over and down so that she can keep a hand on him while touching his face with the other, cradling the side of it, her thumb rubbing soothing circles. He leans and presses and nuzzles into it, and her heart melts. She’s going to take care of him. 

“Good,” he says, voice unsteady with bliss. “Just-- just lovely, wow.” 

She licks her lips, ravenous. He’s all hers. She’s going to have him this evening, take him, plunder him, touch and use him everywhere no one has ever touched or used him before. The power of it prickles across her skin, makes her stomach swoop in the most electrifying sort of way. 

“Good,” she echoes him. “Good boy. Try not to come right away, from this,” she says, but she’ll forgive him if he does. She’ll pet him through his tremors and then coax him into going hard again, because he’s young and inexperienced and doesn’t need much of a break. She’s going to devour him. 

She kneels up and over him, spreading herself with her fingers so that his cock will slide more easily into her. She spears herself on him with agonizing slowness, letting herself get used to him inch by inch. Caduceus goes breathless and frozen, clutching at the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him in this world. 

“Breathe,” she exhales, feeling hot and overwhelmed herself, sinking down slowly, slowly. 

Caduceus obediently sucks down a single large breath, like he’s about to dive underwater. She laughs, and then moans at the way it makes her jostle while impaled by him. She sinks further down. There’s so  _ much  _ of him. 

But she is the Ruby of the Sea, Marion Lavorre, and eventually she is seated at the root of him, letting herself become accustomed to being filled by him. Caduceus still isn’t breathing. She leans in slightly, biting her lip at the feel of him, and gently slides her hands up his sides, his ribs. 

“It’s okay, darling,” she says. 

He breathes. Not much of a rhythm to it at first, but she lets him regather his wits about him. She usually just lets the men who penetrate her start thrusting right away, as is their urge, but this time it looks like the man is the one who needs to adjust, because she starts rocking experimentally up and down on him before he entirely unclenches, small testing movements. The moan sounds like it’s being  _ wrenched _ out of him. It is an entirely delicious noise. 

“You,” she gasps, getting her hand on his sternum for balance so that she can more effectively bounce herself up and down him as she gets used to the feeling of him, “are as sweet as candy, Caduceus.” 

_ “Marion,” _ comes out of him in one breathless sigh, a gasp, a prayer. “I’ve never-- this is so--” 

Speechless, he stutters, tries to praise her, tries to tell her how good she’s making him feel. She thrusts herself up, down, filling with a golden pleased light. 

“My virgin,” she purrs, her sense boiled right out of her by the heat of her blood and her breath and the sweat sliding down her skin. “All _ mine.”  _

“Yes,” he says, shakes. One hand goes to hesitantly clutch at her hip instead of the sheets, and she indulgently allows it. She lips her lips and hums, fucking herself onto him. Now that she’s adjusted, gotten herself going, he feels  _ satisfying.  _

“You’re doing excellently,” she breathes, feels her necklace rattle, her tits bounce, her hair go messy. His rattled breathing is audible, the expression on his face overwhelmed and worshipful. “A natural, darling.” 

He’s not doing anything in particular, but he’s enduring her, lasting, obeying. That’s the best he can do. Exactly what he’s  _ supposed  _ to do. She’s in charge here. 

“This…” he breathes softly, “is the most natural thing in the world.” 

He acts like it is. As natural and shameless as eating or sleeping, nothing to be ashamed about, nothing to shun over, nothing to treat her as less than a person for. She’s not a seductive predator or a desperate whore or something to be used, to him. Just a person to sit down with and have tea and talk about life with, and  _ she’s  _ the one who dragged him to bed, who started this, who wanted this, and now he’s sprawled underneath her, half dressed on her sheets and panting and praising and overwhelmed and he looks  _ beautiful.  _

Such a sweet, trusting young man, glowing with pleasure and his regard for her. _ This _ is what’s beautiful about sex, the core and the reason of it that can be so easy to lose track of. The simple enjoyment of it, the partnership, the cooperation to bring each other happiness. 

She touches her clit, bites her lip, eyes closing with pleasure so intense it threatens to white out her thoughts and composure. She’s been faking her orgasms with clients for a long time now, she realizes suddenly. It’s been a while. 

She splits herself decidedly down on him, and Caduceus asks, deep slow smooth voice gone unsteady with her ministrations, “Can I-- can I  _ now,  _ Marion?” 

She laughs, giddy and breathless, incredulous and fond. “Yes, of course, dear!” 

He comes inside her, and she touches herself, fucks herself on him, and soon she’s clenching down on the length and girth of him as he spurts hot come into her, and he goes tense and shivers, a long keening noise drawn out of him, and she has to hold herself up on his chest as she goes loose and warm and shaky with the tingling dregs of pleasure, as he desperately gasps in air, eyes open wide and dazed. 

She leans down and kisses him on his bovine nose. 

“Not bad for a first time, hm?” she asks him coyly, playfully. 

“Not at all,” he rumbles at her, and she falls onto her side and into his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> BINGO BABY. Oh wow this one took a long time, I'm gonna take a bingo card break lol.


End file.
